


Oh My My My

by CelesteFitzgerald



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Children, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Childhood Friends, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, i'm talkin REALLY slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:08:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24385588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelesteFitzgerald/pseuds/CelesteFitzgerald
Summary: Ever since he met the tiny boy who lives next door, Ritchie has loved everything about George and is proud to call him his best friend. But as the two boys grow up, their friendship blossoms into something more.
Relationships: George Harrison/Ringo Starr
Comments: 90
Kudos: 105





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Taylor Swift's "Mary's Song (Oh My My My)." 
> 
> Writing by CelesteFitzgerald  
> Illustrations by rufusrant (who is refusing to let me add her as a co-author even though she's working hard on these illustrations....)

Ritchie stuck close to his mum’s side as she led him to the neighbors’ house. She had scheduled a play date for him with Peter. Ritchie didn’t mind the other four-year-old, but they had only played together a couple of times, and frankly, he was kind of boring. Because of his older siblings, Peter was always trying to pretend he was a grown-up. He didn’t even realize how lucky he was to have siblings in the first place.

Still, Ritchie stood outside Peter’s door, bouncing on his feet as his mum rang the doorbell. Mrs. Harrison let him in, and before long, Ritchie was poking at his socks while Peter read him the same book he had read last time they played. Peter loved to brag about knowing how to read, but some of his lines were very different from the ones he had “read” last month—they didn’t even match the pictures half the time.

“You can read the next page,” Peter said, shoving the book against Ritchie’s chest.

Ritchie stared down at the funny lines above the drawings of smiling bugs and pouted. “I can’t.”

“Okay, I’ll do this one. You do the next one.”

Ritchie pulled on his socks again.

Thankfully, Mrs. Harrison came in and gave Ritchie a much-needed break. “How’re you doing, boys?”

“Good!” Peter chirped—then he looked up at his mum and his mood fell. “What’s _he_ doing here?”

Ritchie followed Peter’s gaze and saw the tiny baby in Mrs. Harrison’s arms. The baby usually stayed away while Ritchie and Peter played—Ritchie couldn’t even remember his name—so this was an intriguing surprise.

“George wants to say hi,” Mrs. Harrison said, kneeling down and setting baby George on the floor.

“He doesn’t even know how to say hi,” Peter grumbled, ignoring the silly way George raised his arms toward his mum with his hands opening and closing. Proving Peter’s point, George let out a high-pitched stream of “mamamama.”

Mrs. Harrison sighed. “He’s just a baby, Peter—he’s learning. Maybe you can help teach him some words while I get you boys some snacks.”

“He’s just a dumb baby,” Peter said to Ritchie once his mum had left.

But Ritchie couldn’t see why Peter was so annoyed at the tiny boy with the cute ears that stuck out just a bit too far. Poor George had started to whine when his mum left the room, so Ritchie poked his foot. Instantly, George stopped whining and stared at Ritchie. Then he stuck his hands on the ground and scooted on his bum toward Ritchie.

Ritchie giggled and leaned toward George. “Hellooo,” he said, sticking his face right in front of George’s.

George leaned forward too, bonking their noses together.

“Hey!” Ritchie teased as he jerked back and shook his head.

The squealy giggle George let out was the cutest noise Ritchie had ever heard.

“You don’t have to play with him,” Peter said, still flipping through his book. “Mum and Dad already play with him way too much.”

_He’s more fun than you are_ , Ritchie thought. Why couldn’t _he_ have a little brother?

George wasn’t too happy with how far away Ritchie was now, so he crawled up Ritchie’s legs and into his lap. His fingers tickled as his hands made their way up Ritchie’s chest. Ritchie laughed—until one of George’s hands latched onto his nose.

“Hey!” Ritchie said, his voice coming out all nasally and weird. “That’s _my_ nose.”

George squeezed tighter.

“No stealing!” Carefully, Ritchie wrapped his fingers around George’s thin wrist and tried to pull his hand away to no avail. “You’ve got your own nose,” Ritchie said, pinching said nose.

Shrieking with laughter, George finally let go and flopped against Ritchie’s chest, resting his head.

Ritchie took a deep breath through his newly freed nose before looking down at the small boy in his lap. The tiny tufts of George’s hair brushed against Ritchie’s chin and his drool was soaking into Ritchie’s shirt, but he didn’t mind. This was the best play date he’d had in ages.

Ritchie had never been so disappointed to see his mum as when she came to pick him up a couple hours later. He waved goodbye to George—and Peter—and reluctantly followed his mum out the door. Once the door was closed behind them, Ritchie looked up at his mum.

“Can I play again tomorrow?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically just pure fluff in this chapter. The plot will get a bit more plot-y later, but for now just enjoy the kiddos being cutie pies :P

Ritchie began spending as much time at Peter’s house as he could—not for Peter, of course. He wanted to play with the baby. Unfortunately, he made the mistake of admitting this to his mum and ended up sitting through a lecture on politeness and friendship so that he wouldn’t be mean to Peter.

Not that it mattered. Once Peter realized that Ritchie would never be as annoyed by George as he was, Peter stopped paying much attention to Ritchie, and it was hard for Ritchie to be mean to someone who didn’t want to talk to him.

Mrs. Harrison on the other hand was thrilled to have another pair of eyes on George. Now that he had figured out the basics of walking, he could get into a lot more trouble—unless Ritchie was there to keep his attention elsewhere.

“C’mon, George—let’s go even faster this time,” Ritchie said as he helped George to his feet. He grabbed George’s hands and held on tight. “Ready?”

“Ah-bah,” George babbled, bouncing up and down and squeezing Ritchie’s fingers.

“One, two, three!”

And they were off. Ritchie rushed backward and George stumbled forward, both squealing as they tried to beat their record speed to the other end of the room. Twice as fast as last time—according to Ritchie’s very precise calculations—they reached the other side, but the adventure wasn’t nearly done.

Ritchie stopped his momentum before reaching the wall, but George still barreled forward, crashing into Ritchie’s stomach and sending them tumbling to the floor. Ritchie giggled and gasped for breath as George rolled off of him and onto the floor, his mouth open in a wide smile that showed off his five tiny teeth.

Then George scooted closer to Ritchie’s face, pulled on his shirt with his slobbery hand, and said, “Ah-na-na.” _Again_.

Ritchie was more than happy to oblige.

* * *

As time went by, Ritchie loved watching George grow up. It was like having the little brother he’d always wanted. Once George improved at walking, he focused his attention on talking—or, rather, Ritchie constantly got in his face to try to get him to say as many words as possible.

Their current project was Ritchie’s name, and it was turning out to be a much longer project than Ritchie had hoped. Hearing George call him “Chi-chi” was cute for a few weeks, but Ritchie wasn’t going to give up on him.

“Ritchie…Ritchie,” he repeated, watching George intently as their mums chatted on the couch.

George turned one of his blocks over in his hands then let it drop to the floor as he met Ritchie’s gaze. “Ch…”

“ _Ritchie_.” His name wasn’t _that_ hard. Why couldn’t George just say it?

George grabbed two blocks and clunked them together, so Ritchie grabbed a third and balanced it on top of George’s head—until George squealed and knocked it to the floor. He tried to speak again. “Ch…T…Bitchie.”

When he heard what George said, Ritchie perked up—and it caught their mums’ attention as well. “Say it again!” Ritchie said.

“Yes, say that again, George,” Mrs. Harrison said, pulling out her phone as Ritchie’s mum covered her mouth and shook.

“Bitchie,” George said, proudly looking around the room as Ritchie clapped and their mums erupted into laughter. Ritchie didn’t know what was so funny about it, but at least their excitement got George to repeat it a few more times—and a few more times after that once a teary-eyed Mrs. Harrison called her husband into the room.

While the grown-ups kept laugh-crying over who knows what, Ritchie pulled George into a hug. He may not have gotten it exactly right, but he knew Ritchie’s name. And as George mumbled one more “Bitchie” into his shoulder, Ritchie was happier than he’d ever been.

* * *

George kept hitting more “big boy” milestones until he hit a really big one: his second birthday. And Ritchie had been invited to the party—a high honor considering that most of the guests were George’s relatives since he was too young to have many friends of his own. Ritchie couldn’t wait for the party. He had picked out George’s gift himself and wanted to see his face when he opened it.

Then Ritchie arrived at the party and saw a bunch of screaming kids running around. He didn’t realize George had so many cousins. After standing on the sidelines for a minute, he heard his name.

“Ritchie,” Peter said, making his way over. “Wanna go outside and play tag?”

Tag _did_ sound fun, and it was warm for a February day, so Ritchie joined the gaggle of Harrisons for a couple rounds before taking advantage of a time-out to ask Peter where George was.

“Somewhere inside,” Peter shrugged. “I think Louise was holdin’ him.”

Ritchie rushed into the house, closing the door before tall-girl-cousin—or whatever her name was—could tag him. He had to search a couple rooms, but he finally found George and his sister hiding out in the bathroom.

“Hi,” Ritchie said quietly. He hadn’t spent much time with Louise before and didn’t know how to talk to teenagers.

“Hi, Ritchie,” Louise said. “Here to see the birthday boy?”

Ritchie nodded. “Why’re you in here?”

“All the loud talking was making him fussy,” she said, setting George down.

“Happy birthday,” Ritchie said as George adjusted his party hat before it slipped down over his eyes.

A huge smile broke out over George’s face. “Georgie two.”

Ritchie giggled. “Yeah. You’re a big boy now. Like me.”

“Ritchie two.”

“No, Ritchie four.”

“Georgie four.”

Louise sighed. “I’m gonna go get food,” she said as she left the room.

“Cake?” George asked, starting to follow his sister.

“Not yet,” Ritchie said. He hated the frown that George gave him. “We could play with your toy kitchen while we wait?”

George’s face brightened right up. “Cake!” He grabbed Ritchie’s hand and dragged him toward the stash of toy food in his and Peter’s bedroom. The fake cake sure wasn’t the same as the real deal, but the smile on George’s face as he handed Ritchie a plateful of plastic made it better.

Soon enough, it was time for presents, and the whole crowd gathered in the living room to watch George make a mess with wrapping paper. He had already opened lots of new toys and clothes when Ritchie’s small gift box was finally plopped into his lap. As George fiddled with the edge of the paper, Ritchie bounced with excitement at the memory of why he had picked out his gift.

It had been a few months ago while they were playing with George’s trucks when suddenly, George noticed the ring on Ritchie’s finger—and grabbed it. Laughing, Ritchie let him take it off and attempt to slide it onto his own finger. It took him a few tries, but George finally got it. He curled and straightened his fingers a few times to really admire it, then he took it back off and returned it to Ritchie.

“You can keep it,” Ritchie said, gently pushing George’s hand back. He had plenty more rings at home—he could share this one.

Unfortunately, Mrs. Harrison had stepped in to say that it was too dangerous for George to have something so small. A few tears were shed when she pried the ring from George’s fingers, but George recovered quickly. Ritchie on the other hand thought that it was unfair that George couldn’t have a ring of his own.

But that would soon change, now that George had finished tearing off the wrapping paper. “Ritchie!” he cried when he saw the picture of the big, bright red ring on the front of the box. He practically threw the box at Ritchie and eagerly waited for him to take the choke-proof ring out. George fumbled around to slip it on, and he held his hand up so the whole room could see his new accessory.

George left the ring on while he opened the rest of his gifts. He tried to leave it on during cake time too, but his parents knew how messy he could be and insisted that he take it off. In turn, George insisted that Ritchie hold onto the ring for him so that he could still see it as they sat next to each other to eat.

Removing the ring turned out to be a good decision. It only took a few minutes before George was covered in mushed up cupcake. His parents were frustrated, but Ritchie couldn’t help but smile at him. Naturally, Ritchie’s support just encouraged George to shove both of his hands directly into the pile of goo in front of him, and they both laughed hysterically.

“Oh— _George_ ,” Mrs. Harrison groaned when she saw her son. “Let’s clean you up.” She grabbed a moist towel and lifted George out of his chair—and he promptly tried to wander off. “ _No_ , George—Ritchie, would you be a dear and hold him still for me?”

“Okay!” Ritchie hopped to the floor and grabbed George’s shoulders as Mrs. Harrison wiped down his left hand.

But George’s right hand was unguarded. He patted Ritchie’s hand, getting frosting all over it.

“Hey!” Ritchie took a dab of frosting and booped it onto George’s nose.

With a mischievous grin, George spun around and smushed himself up against Ritchie, covering them both with frosting. The boys thought it was hilarious. Mrs. Harrison…not so much. Ritchie was sent home to change into clean clothes, and he missed the rest of dessert time.

It was still worth it. It was all worth it for George.


	3. Chapter 3

Ritchie was so preoccupied with watching George grow up that he forgot that he was growing up, too. One day he was a four-year-old kid playing at home, and the next he was five and headed off to his first day of school. It was a little scary to think about being away from his mum all day, but he was excited to meet all the other kids. Until now, his social circle was dominated by George and Peter.

After Ritchie fiddled with his scratchy jumper and slipped on his clunky shoes, his mum helped him put on his brand-new backpack. He was thrilled that his school let students choose their own bag instead of making it part of the uniform. He couldn’t wait to show the backpack’s shiny fish and sparkly bubbles to George when their families met up outside to walk to school together.

As soon as the door was unlocked, Ritchie rushed outside, and George immediately screamed and ran toward him. “Ritchieeee,” he cried as he crashed into him, wrapping him up in the biggest hug he could muster.

Ritchie returned the hug with vigor before turning around to show George his bag. George ran his hands over all the sea creatures and started tugging at the zipper until Peter grabbed his hand and dragged him back to the pavement.

“We’re gonna be late, George,” Peter said, still clutching his hand.

George struggled to keep up with Peter’s pace as they hurried down the path.

“Slow down, boys,” Mrs. Harrison said from next to Ritchie’s mum. Mr. Harrison was off to work, and Louise and Harry had already caught the bus to secondary school, so the five of them would be walking alone.

Ritchie ran ahead to catch up with the Harrison boys. When he made it, George dropped Peter’s hand and grabbed Ritchie’s instead. All three boys were happier with that arrangement.

The walk to school was tiring, but the sight of the building filled Ritchie with excitement. He squeezed George’s hand tighter as they approached the other children making their way inside.

When they reached the entrance, Ritchie dropped George’s hand and turned to his mum who knelt down to hug him.

“Have a nice day, Ritchie. I’ll be right back here waiting for you at the end of the day, alright?” She ran her hand over his hair and kept holding him.

“Mm-hm,” Ritchie said, starting to get a tiny bit nervous. “Love you, Mum.”

“I love you, too.” She kissed his forehead before letting him get back to Peter, who was saying goodbye to George.

Ritchie joined them to have his moment with George as well, but George seemed quieter than normal. “Bye-bye,” Ritchie said, getting ready to hug George.

“I wanna go school.”

“…Huh?”

“I go, too,” George said. He latched onto Ritchie’s arm.

As Ritchie looked down at where George’s cheek was smushed against his arm, he wished he could say yes. But he knew he couldn’t. “You’re too young. You can’t go yet.”

George stuck his bottom lip out. “Yes, I can.”

“We can play after school. You have to let go,” Ritchie said, trying to pry George’s hands off.

“No!”

That caught the attention of Mrs. Harrison. “It’s alright, George, you’ll see them soon.”

“No!” he screamed again.

Sighing, Mrs. Harrison pulled him away—and George was _not_ happy. He burst into tears and stamped his feet until he fell onto his bum. Then he cried harder.

Ritchie watched helplessly as George called out for him and Peter. If George couldn’t come with them, maybe they could stay home?

“We should just go in,” Peter said, looking sadly at his brother. “He’ll stop crying soon…right?”

“I don’t know,” Ritchie said. He wanted George to stop crying _now_.

Feeling determined, Ritchie ignored the protests of both mothers and walked back to George. He took off his backpack and looked inside for anything that might help.

As George clung to the backpack straps, Ritchie came up with an idea. He dug out a pen and grabbed George’s arm. George watched tearfully as Ritchie drew a shaky smiley face on the back of his hand. “There,” Ritchie said, putting the pen away. “That’s me. Now I can be with you all day.”

George stared at his hand for a moment. Then, after a few more sniffles, a teeny tiny smile appeared. He began to wipe away his tears, but Ritchie stopped him.

“Don’t get your tears on my face,” Ritchie said, dragging the hand with the smiling doodle back down.

George giggled and used his other hand to wipe off the tears. They shared one more hug before Ritchie chased Peter into the school. It would be weird not being able to see George, but at least he’d have plenty of adventures to tell George about when the day was over.

* * *

Over time, George’s separation anxiety faded away, and he managed to say goodbye to Peter and Ritchie with hugs and smiles. Ritchie quickly grew accustomed to being at school as well. His favorite part of the day was story time. The teacher always picked out the best stories, and it made Ritchie want to read stories for himself. If only he could get the hang of all those funny looking letters.

The other students were alright, too. Ritchie hadn’t yet clicked with anyone as well as he clicked with George, but he still had fun playing with his classmates on the playground during break.

Then one morning after they said goodbye to their families, a boy approached Ritchie and Peter. “Your brother is cute.”

“Thanks,” Peter said.

“Are you two twins?”

Ritchie looked over at Peter. “No. They’re my neighbors, not my brothers.”

“Then why’re you always holdin’ hands with the baby?”

Ritchie frowned. “He’s not a baby. He’s my best mate.”

The boy made a face. “That’s dumb. Why d’you wanna play with a baby?”

“He’s…he’s not….” Ritchie kept sputtering as the boy’s frown changed to a smirk.

“Let’s go, Ritchie,” Peter said, storming off. With one last glance at the now laughing kid, Ritchie followed. “He’s a stupid meanie,” Peter said once it was just the two of them.

Ritchie agreed, but he wasn’t sure why _Peter_ was saying that. “You call George a dumb baby all the time.”

“He’s _my_ dumb baby—I’m allowed to call him that.” Peter crossed his arms. “Let’s just go to class.”

“…Alright.” Ritchie walked with Peter in silence to their classroom, ready to put this whole matter behind them.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t so lucky. During break, Ritchie heard scattered whispers and saw a few pointing fingers until one girl finally had the courage to approach him. “Are you the baby lover?”

Ritchie took a step back. “I…”

She grinned. “You are, aren’t you? I heard you only play with babies because you’re a baby, too—and ‘cause you still wear nappies.”

“N-no I don’t,” Ritchie said as his lip began to quiver.

Another girl came over. “Aww, look—the baby’s crying.”

Ritchie turned and ran.

* * *

As the week went on, things only got worse. More and more of Ritchie’s classmates heard the falsified stories of Ritchie’s life as a five-year-old baby. When a few of the boys charted chanting “Ritchie wears nappies” during craft time, the teacher finally stepped in, but the measly ten-minute time-outs that the instigators received didn’t do much to stop the teasing.

Even George noticed something wasn’t right. As they walked back home on Thursday, Ritchie pulled his hand away each time George tried to grab it. “Are you sad?” George asked, tugging on Ritchie’s sleeve.

“I’m fine,” Ritchie said, pulling his arm away.

Looking hurt, George sulked off to hold Peter’s hand instead. Ritchie just tried not to cry.

Ritchie made it safely inside his house before the tears started overflowing. He threw his backpack to the floor, ran to the sofa, and buried his head in the cushions. He gasped for breath between sobs and clenched his fists. Maybe those kids were right. He really was a baby.

“Oh, Ritchie love.” His mum’s hand was rubbing his back within seconds. “What’s wrong?”

Ritchie tried to speak, but his words turned into more sobs.

“Mummy’s got you,” she said, helping Ritchie sit up and wrapping her arms around him.

“They—They—” Ritchie rubbed at his eyes. “They said I’m a baby.”

“Who said that?”

“Ev—everyone.”

His mum held him tighter. “Why?”

“My best mate’s a baby. Can’t get any friends my age.”

“Shh.” She pulled Ritchie into her lap and kissed his head. “You’re not a baby. You’re my darling, strong Ritchie. And you’re a wonderful friend to George. You’ll find more friends who can see how kind you are.”

Ritchie’s sobs began to subside as he leaned into his mum’s embrace.

“And I’m certainly going to have a talk with the school about the way the other children are acting.” She kissed him one more time and tickled the corner of his mouth until he cracked a smile. “I love you, angel.”

“Love you too, Mum.” Ritchie wiped off his face on his mum’s shirt before she got up to phone the school. Hopefully things would get better soon.

* * *

They didn’t. The only thing that changed was that the students learned to keep their snide remarks away from teachers’ ears. When they were alone, Ritchie still faced the same treatment as before.

Heading home in tears became a regular occurrence. Sometimes it was so bad that Ritchie’s mum let him stay home from school the next day. It was nice to get a break from all the taunting to relax with George, but seeing George’s smiling face just reminded him of the whole reason he was hiding at home in the first place.

On one of the days when he made the brave journey to school, Ritchie was sitting in the cafeteria on his usual bench, keeping his head down to hopefully avoid conversations. He poked around at his sandwich without actually eating much of it.

“What’s wrong, baby Ritchie?” a boy asked from across the table. “Not hungry?”

“Shh, maybe he doesn’t know how to chew yet.”

“Yeah,” the first kid agreed. “He only knows how to use bottles. D’you want me to go get you a bottle, little baby?”

Ritchie’s breaths were becoming shorter and he was trying to hold himself together when he heard a screech. His eyes shot up to find the rude boy soaking wet—and a boy with glasses was holding an empty, dripping milk carton above his head.

Glasses boy dropped his carton on the floor. “Looks like you’re the one who needs a bottle. You’re makin’ a mess with all that milk.”

The rude boy opened his mouth, but before he could make a sound, he ran off to find a teacher to tattle to. Ritchie looked around at the rest of the table, but each time he made eye contact with someone, the other student quickly looked away. He could get used to this silence—

“Hi.”

Ritchie jolted at the sound of glasses boy’s voice as he took a seat next to him. “Hi. Um…thank you.”

He shrugged. “I dunno why everyone’s being so mean to you. Babies are cool. Babies don’t make you follow stupid rules or boss you around. They just throw toys everywhere and drool on everything—and they don’t get yelled at for it!” He huffed. “Why can’t we stay babies forever?”

For the first time in a while, Ritchie let out a genuine giggle.

“You’re Ritchie, right?”

Ritchie nodded.

“I’m Johnny—”

“John Lennon,” their teacher snapped as she rushed toward their table. “I need to have a talk with you at my desk.”

John groaned and turned back to Ritchie. “See? Babies don’t get in trouble for this. It’s not fair.”

Ritchie waved goodbye as John trudged off with the teacher. He doubted that the teasing was over, but his mum may have gotten something right—he’d make more friends just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to the incredible rufusrant for the art - and for coming up with the perfect way for John to make his big debut!


	4. Chapter 4

Ever since Ritchie met John, school had become a bit easier. The other kids learned pretty fast to stop messing with Ritchie unless they wanted a face full of John’s lunch. And Ritchie was thrilled that he had made a new friend, even though they barely had time to play together—more often than not, John wound up in time out during their breaks. Ritchie would just need to find another way to play with John.

He was so excited when his mum agreed to let John come over for a play date. He showed John all his favorite toys, the decorations in his bedroom, and their old photo albums—although that last one wasn’t Ritchie’s choice. John just sneaked his way into the cabinet to see if Ritchie was a funny looking baby. But John promised to show Ritchie his own pictures when Ritchie visited his house, so they were even.

Peter started to warm up to John as well, and the three of them ended up playing in Ritchie’s yard after school one day.

“Over here, Ritchie!” Peter called, stretching his arms up.

“Okay,” Ritchie said as he threw the rubber ball to Peter.

“My turn,” John said, easily catching Peter’s toss.

Ritchie braced his feet to catch it next, but John had another idea.

“Look how far I can throw it.”

Glancing behind him, Ritchie backed up toward the pavement.

“More.”

Ritchie stepped back again.

“More.”

Ritchie’s shoes hit the pavement, and he frowned. “That’s really far…”

“Fine, stay there. But next time I’ll go farther,” John said. He clutched the ball hard, got a running start, and flung the ball forward, practically hurling himself into the ground as well with the momentum. The ball soared through the air…and dropped to the ground a meter in front of Ritchie.

“You missed,” Peter said as Ritchie started walking toward the ball.

“No, no, no,” John pouted, running to beat Ritchie to the ball. “That wasn’t it. It’s my turn again.”

Ritchie reached the ball first and handed it back to John while Peter crossed his arms and complained. But before Ritchie could get into place to try catching again, he heard a door swing open next door.

George stumbled out of his house with his brother Harry following behind him. He slowed down to climb down the steps, then ran toward Ritchie’s yard while Harry took a seat on the stairs.

“Hi, George!” Ritchie said, running over to meet him halfway.

George wobbled to a halt in front of Ritchie. “You playing ball?”

“Mm-hm!”

“Me too?”

Ritchie turned around to look at John and Peter. It would be amazing for all of Ritchie’s closest friends to play together. He really wanted John and George to like each other.

Right as Ritchie said, “Sure,” Peter said, “No.”

“Why can’t he play?” Ritchie asked.

“He’ll ruin the game. He doesn’t know how to throw.”

“Are you sure?” Ritchie asked.

Peter glanced at where George was squatting down and pulling up blades of grass. “Can’t you play with him later?”

“Let him try it,” Ritchie said, looking at John for support.

John just shrugged and held the ball up. “Here, George.”

After wiping the grass from his hands, George stood up and held his arms out.

John got ready to throw—then he paused a took a couple large steps toward George. And a couple more steps. He finally threw the ball, and they all watched as George held his arms still and let the ball bounce off his legs.

“Ah!” George squealed, laughing as he chased down the runaway ball. He picked it up, oblivious to the wary look that John and Peter shared.

Now it was George’s turn. He faced Ritchie and stretched up with the ball behind his head. With a high-pitched grunt and his eyes squeezed shut from the strain, he swung his arm forward with all his might. They all stared as the ball went up…

…and straight back down directly in front of George’s feet.

“So close!” Ritchie said with a smile as he walked halfway across the yard to grab the ball.

George jumped with his arms straight above his head, cheering in excitement. Ritchie took advantage of his open hand and gave him a high five, making George squeal louder.

Ritchie threw it to Peter, who threw it to John—then John threw it at Ritchie, who almost dropped it. “You skipped George.”

“My turn!” George said, bouncing up and down so enthusiastically that he almost lost his balance.

Once George was steady, Ritchie tossed it to him. This time it at least hit his fingertips before rolling away, and George hurried after it again.

“Ritchie, he can’t play,” Peter whispered as George caught up to the ball.

“He can do it,” Ritchie insisted.

“No, he can’t,” John said.

Ritchie frowned. John was supposed to be on his side. “You said there’s nothing wrong with George.”

“Babies should play baby games. He’s too little for this—”

“Ritchie!” George said as he got ready to throw again. He faced toward Ritchie, unaware that he wasn’t supposed to return the ball to the person who had given it to him. He took aim and threw, and the ball bounced along the ground several meters to the left of Ritchie.

With his confidence in George’s abilities draining, Ritchie trudged off to get the ball. He wanted so badly for George to play with them, but if he kept scrambling halfway across the yard for the ball every two seconds, he’d be exhausted.

Ritchie gave it a bit more time, but within five minutes he was out of breath and couldn’t help but agree with John and Peter. “George,” he said, grabbing George’s arm before he could hurl the ball in the general direction of Peter. “Can I have the ball?”

George thrust the ball into his hands with such a huge smile that Ritchie almost changed his mind.

“Thanks,” Ritchie said, shifting from side to side. “Um…maybe we can play more later?”

George cocked his head. “We done?”

It was so hard to say no to that face. But Ritchie had to. “We’re gonna play more—b-but you can play with Harry.”

George stuck out his bottom lip. “I wanna play.”

“C’mon,” Peter called. “Go away, George.”

With his lip quivering, George burst into tears and ran back to Harry on the front steps and buried his head against his legs.

Ritchie felt horrible, but John and Peter wouldn’t quit telling him to bring the ball back. He returned the ball to John and peeked back at the Harrison house to see if George had stopped crying. But George and Harry had disappeared.

He hoped George was okay.

* * *

Something had changed after that game of catch. George practically ignored Ritchie every time they saw each other, and when Ritchie tried to talk to him, he just turned his head away. And Ritchie hated it.

After a few days of this, Ritchie couldn’t take it anymore. He needed his George. He knocked on the Harrison’s door, and once Mr. Harrison let him in, he rushed to where George was playing with his train set.

“Can I play, too?” Ritchie said, already dropping to the floor and grabbing one of the blue engines.

To his surprise, George threw his train onto the floor and ran upstairs.

“Hey—come back,” Ritchie called as he chased George to his bedroom. When he got there, he found George face down on his bed in tears. “What’s wrong?”

George let out a high-pitched mumble against his pillow.

Trying not to cry himself, Ritchie climbed onto the bed and wrapped his arm around George’s shoulder. “It’s okay, George.”

George scooted out of Ritchie’s grip and turned away.

“Are you mad at me?” Ritchie asked.

“You don’t like me nen-nee-more.”

“What? I love you, George.”

“You like him more.”

“Who?”

George rolled onto his back and raised his hands to his tear-covered face. He curved his hands into O-shapes to circle his eyes.

“John?” Ritchie asked. “I like playing with you _and_ John.”

Lowering his hands, George looked up at him with his wide, brown eyes. “B-but…”

Ritchie lay down next to George until they were eye to eye. “You’re still my best mate. John’s not gonna change that.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Pinky promise?”

Giggling, Ritchie linked his pinky with George’s.

When they let go, George scooted forward and burrowed his face into Ritchie’s shirt. His little hand wrapped around Ritchie’s back and scrunched up his shirt.

Ritchie hugged George back and let him wipe off all the tears and snot from his face, even though it felt a little yucky. “D’you wanna play trains now?” Ritchie asked.

But when he pulled back to look at George, his eyes were closed and his mouth was open in a big yawn.

Ritchie smiled. They could play later. Right now, it was nap time. He started to move toward the edge of the bed, but George grunted and tightened his grip on his shirt. Well, maybe it couldn’t hurt to stay a little longer, Ritchie thought as his own eyelids started to droop. He settled into George’s pillow and held him close as they drifted off to sleep together.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't mind the gratuitous Phineas and Ferb references. I'm a mature, almost 25-year-old who has good(?) taste in TV shows XD

Ritchie made good on his pinky promise. No matter how much time he spent away at school, he always looked forward to the end of the day when George would be waiting for him with a big smile and a bigger hug.

Before long, his first year of school was over and he had plenty of time to play with George. Whether they were playing hide and seek among the bushes, splashing each other in George’s kiddie pool, or sitting in front of the TV, they spent almost every day together.

Ritchie’s favorite summertime television program quickly became Phineas and Ferb. George enjoyed it as well, but he seemed less interested in the show itself and more interested in trying to sing along with the dooby-dooby-doo-bah’s of Perry the Platypus’ theme song.

George kept singing for a while after the song ended, only stopping when Dr. Doofenshmirtz dove into another monologue. The screen zoomed in on his face and gave a clear view of his long, pointy nose. “Nose,” George said, reaching over to poke Ritchie’s nose.

Scrunching up his nose, Ritchie shook George off. “Cheeky,” he teased, poking George’s cheek and making them both erupt into giggles.

A little later in the episode, Candace started talking about her boyfriend Jeremy. “What’s boyfriend?” George asked.

“When you love a boy a lot, then they’re your boyfriend,” Ritchie said.

George’s mouth opened into an O as his mum came to check on them. “Would you boys like any snacks?” she asked, squatting down.

“Mummy,” George said, grabbing Ritchie’s hand. “Ritchie’s my boyfriend!”

Ritchie watched George’s bright, smiling face as Mrs. Harrison gave him a pitying look. “Oh, honey,” she said, “I think you’re a little young for that.”

“No, I’m not,” George pouted. “I’m three. I’m a big boy.”

Mrs. Harrison sighed. “Wait till you’re a little older, love.”

With George still squeezing his hand, Ritchie looked between George and Mrs. Harrison. “Um…do you have any juice, please—”

“He’s my _boyfriend_ ,” George insisted, hugging Ritchie’s hand to his chest.

Mrs. Harrison smiled at Ritchie. “I’ll get you some juice, dear.”

As his mum left, George kept yelling after her and clutching Ritchie’s hand so hard that it hurt.

“George, you can still love me if you’re not my boyfriend,” Ritchie said.

George’s eyes widened. “Y-you don’t love me?”

“Of course I do! But…um…oh! We can play house. And then we can be boyfriends.”

“We can?” George asked as his eyes lit up.

“Yeah,” Ritchie said, pulling George to his feet. “And we can have kids and pets and a big mansion.”

George jumped up and down. “I want a hundred kitties!”

Both giggling, they made their way to George and Peter’s room—with a quick stop in the kitchen so Ritchie could drink his juice. They used the toy kitchen as a starting point and grabbed all the blankets and pillows they could find to set up a perimeter for their house. It was simple, but it was theirs.

Next, they got to work on their army of pets. They didn’t quite make it to one hundred cats, but between George and Peter’s stuffed animals, they had three cats, two dogs, a turtle, and a dinosaur. They also took Peter’s Spider-Man which, according to George, was just a spider. All they needed now were their children.

Peter was hanging out in Harry’s room trying to get a turn on his DS, so George tracked him down and dragged him in to see his and Ritchie’s new house. “What’s that?” Peter asked, making a face at the mess that had expanded onto his side of the room.

“Our house,” George said. To clarify, he grabbed Ritchie’s hand and added, “We’re boyfriends.”

Peter made another face. “It looks stupid.”

“That’s a mean word,” Ritchie muttered as George leaned close against his side and wrapped his arms completely around him.

“You’re our baby,” George told Peter, ignoring Peter’s distaste for the entire game. “Sit by the kitties.”

“This game doesn’t make sense,” Peter said. “I’m older than you.”

“You can pretend,” Ritchie said, hoping that Peter would finally have some _real_ fun for once in his life.

“No.” Peter headed for the door.

But George wouldn’t let him go so easily. “Peter, come back _now_ ,” he ordered. When Peter didn’t listen, George turned to more drastic measures. “PETERRRR!”

“Shh,” Ritchie said, throwing his hand over George’s mouth. “We’re gonna get in trouble— _ew!_ ” He recoiled and shook off his hand. “Don’t lick me, that’s slimy,” he said, wiping his hand on George’s arm.

George squealed and wiggled his arm out of Ritchie’s grip. Then he frowned. “We don’t have kids.”

“That’s okay,” Ritchie said. “We have lots of cats.”

George beamed. “Yeah!” He bent down to grab the big, orange cat and started petting its fur. “I love kitties.”

After a bit of discussion and a lot of cat petting—and a lot of cat petting in the middle of the discussion—Ritchie and George decided to make dinner for all their pets. George took charge as the chef while Ritchie handed him all the dinnerware he needed to create his masterpieces. 

First, George made some fruit and vegetable plates for the cats and dogs, followed by hamburgers for the turtle and dinosaur. When he reached Spider-Man, he froze. “What do spiders eat?”

“I think they eat bugs.”

“Ewww, that’s yucky,” George said. “She wants coffee,” he decided as he brewed up a bowl of coffee in the freezer for the apparently-not-male Spider-Man.

When everyone had been fed, Ritchie was about to ask what George wanted to do next in their house. But George was in the middle of grabbing a stack of bread slices and some chicken legs. “George, everyone’s eaten already.”

“Not yet.”

“They’re done.”

“No, no, no,” George said, pushing past Ritchie to set out the second round of food. “They’re still hungry.”

“Don’t you wanna do something else?”

“ _Hungry!_ ”

Ritchie sighed and accepted defeat.

* * *

There were so many days of summer holiday, but of course, school came along just to end it. The easy days of Reception were over, and it was time for Ritchie to move up to Year 1. And it was _hard_.

Hard for Ritchie, at least. The other kids weren’t having any trouble with their maths problems. Yet Ritchie sat at his desk staring down at the list of addition problems, searching for any of them he knew how to answer. How could he answer them when he couldn’t remember half the numbers?

Finally, halfway down the page, he spotted a familiar “1+1.” After counting on his fingers to double-check, he grabbed his pencil to write a two in the blank. Except…what did two look like again? He scanned over the other numbers on the page hoping that he’d find one that jogged his memory, but nothing did. Were there even any twos on the page?

One of the other students stood up to hand in their paper. All Ritchie had done was write his name—and even _that_ didn’t look quite right. He had to write something. Maybe two had two lines in it. Hoping he was onto something, Ritchie drew two vertical lines next to each other. One question down, a lot more to go.

School was stupid.

* * *

Ritchie kept quiet on the walk home the next week. He couldn’t show his mum his maths quiz. She couldn’t know that he had failed. All he wanted to do was play with George and forget about school. He was so happy when both of their parents agreed to let George come over for another play date. George always made him feel better.

Except for today when George asked Ritchie to read him a book. Ritchie didn’t even know how to read the title. Now he was letting George down, too.

“I’ll read it,” George said, pulling the book out of Ritchie’s hands.

“You can read?”

“No!” George said with a huge smile as he pointed to the barn on the cover anyway. “It’s called… _Farmy Farm_.”

Some of Ritchie’s sadness melted away as he giggled at George’s enthusiasm.

George turned to the first page, which had a drawing of a sheep and several sentences next to it. He thought for a moment before saying, “Sheep says hi.” Then he reached for the next page.

“Wait,” Ritchie said, grabbing his wrist. “What’re the other words?”

“No, no,” George said, slapping the paragraph and turning the page over. “…Cow says hi.”

Lots of animals said hi during their story time.

Ritchie felt quite a bit better by the end of the book, but his failed quiz still ate at his mind. He was more than happy for the distraction when George said he was hungry and they journeyed to the kitchen in search of food. Ritchie’s mum was at the table talking on her headset with a coworker, so she moved toward the doorway to give the boys space.

“What do you want?” Ritchie asked as he opened the pantry.

“Chocolate,” George said, getting up on tiptoe to look at as many shelves as he could.

With a quick glance to make sure his mum wasn’t paying attention, Ritchie nodded. “Okay. But it’s hard to reach. Mum doesn’t like when I eat it too much.”

George pouted. “You’re a big boy. You can reach high.”

Ritchie still didn’t feel like a big boy, but he supposed he could give it a shot. He stretched as high as he could to reach the candy shelf and—woah. He could _see_ the candy. He had never been tall enough to see that shelf before. Smiling, he grabbed the bag of M&M’S and proudly handed it to George.

Not even George spilling the bag all over the floor was enough to bring him down now.

* * *

Ritchie wasn’t able to hide his quiz grades forever. Luckily, his mum wasn’t too disappointed when she found out and she did her best to help him. After a few months, he was better at remembering what the numbers and letters looked like, but solving maths problems and writing words were still hard. It was rough seeing the looks that his teacher and the other students gave him over his work, but at least his mum didn’t tease him.

George never teased him either. George didn’t care if he knew what three plus four was, George just cared whether Ritchie was giggling when he waved three or four fingers in front of his face to “help” him with his homework.

“I wanna take a break,” Ritchie laughed as George’s wiggly fingers almost poked him in the eye.

“You gotta write the numbers,” George insisted, pointing at the paper.

“I don’t like the numbers,” Ritchie said, setting down his pencil.

“I’ll do it.” George grabbed the pencil and wrapped all his fingers around it. “What’s that one?” he asked, pointing to one of the problems.

Squinting, Ritchie recognized a four and a two. He counted four fingers on one hand, then two fingers on the other. “Ummm…seven? Wait—no, it’s—um….” Ritchie started counting again.

George waited patiently with wide eyes.

“I don’t know,” Ritchie said, giving up.

“Okay.” George lowered the pencil and very slowly drew a heart on the blank line. “What number did I do?”

Smiling, Ritchie gave George a hug. “A big one.”

George let out a shriek of excitement and squeezed Ritchie tight. “You’re done now?”

Ritchie glanced at all the unfinished problems on the sheet. “Yeah. All done,” he said, ignoring the look his mum gave him from the other side of the table.

“Let’s play!” George said. He hopped down from his chair and bounced as he waited for Ritchie to join him.

Ritchie jumped to the floor as well—and instantly winced. He must have jumped too hard and made his stomach hurt. He had been doing that a lot today. But he slowly made his way to the living room anyway where George picked out a jigsaw puzzle for them to work on, and the pain started to fade.

“Hm,” Ritchie said as he held up a piece with a section of train tracks. He held it near the bottom of the puzzle, and after a few tries, it clicked into place.

Meanwhile, George grabbed a piece with a tree trunk and set it on top of the train’s wheels.

“That’s wrong,” Ritchie said, picking George’s piece back up.

George stared at him for a moment before picking up a piece of the sky and plopping it onto the train as well.

“Hey,” Ritchie pouted as he grabbed George’s mistake again.

This just made George laugh and start stacking more puzzle pieces on top of the train. Ritchie retaliated by flicking a couple of the pieces against George’s feet, so George shoved a piece against Ritchie’s tummy—

“ _Owww!_ ”

George stared in shock as Ritchie clutched his stomach. He said something, but Ritchie didn’t hear a word of it. It hurt so bad, it hurt it hurt it _hurt_. And he knew the pain wasn’t going to go away this time.

“Ritchie, are you okay?” George asked, tapping his knee.

Ritchie tried to answer, but it came out as a scream as tears poured from his eyes.

“I hurt you?” George said so quietly that Ritchie almost missed it.

“N-no,” Ritchie choked out. It still hurt like crazy, but he couldn’t let George think this was his fault. “It’s hurt all day.”

George still looked just as sad. “Why?”

Another wave of pain washed over Ritchie, and he fell back against the carpet and curled up on himself. “I—I don’t—”

“It’s okay,” George said, crawling over the puzzle to gently pat Ritchie’s head. “It’s okay, Ritchie. I’ll make it better.”

As impossible as that was, the feeling of George’s tiny hand rubbing his hair made Ritchie want to believe him.

“I’ll fix your ouchie like Mummy does,” George said. He scooted to the side and moved Ritchie’s knees away from his torso. Then, very gently, George placed one hand on Ritchie’s chest as he leaned down to kiss his stomach. “All better?”

Ritchie smiled through his tears and started to laugh, but the movement made the pain worsen, and he screamed again.

Footsteps sounded from the other room, and Ritchie’s mum appeared in the doorway. “What on earth are you boys…doing?” She met Ritchie’s tearful gaze, and suddenly she looked like she was about to cry herself. “Ritchie? What’s wrong, love?”

Ritchie grabbed her hands as she knelt beside him. “Hurts,” he whimpered. Why wouldn’t it go away?

“It’s alright, let’s get you to the sofa, baby,” his mum said, lifting him up.

As soon as she moved him, the pain exploded again. And then he felt sick. And vomited all over the floor.

He didn’t know what was happening, but he was scared.

So scared.


	6. Chapter 6

There were tears everywhere. Ritchie couldn’t stop crying. And it was too loud. Oh—that was his screaming.

Then there was more crying. Why did it sound like…

“M-Mum? You’re crying?”

“Shh, don’t talk, baby. They’re gonna help you.”

_Who?_ he wanted to ask, but then sirens came and it got louder.

Unfamiliar voices were everywhere. Strange people put him on a bed, but it wasn’t soft. Ritchie screamed again.

They put him in a big car. The sirens blared again, and the car moved too fast, and his mum was squeezing his hand too hard. One of the strange people told her to stop. Ritchie missed her. He missed—

“George? Where’s George?”

“At home, love. You’ll see him soon.”

More tears fell. Ritchie tried to be strong, but all he wanted was for George to be there, kissing it better again.

The car stopped. They rolled him into a white hallway with even scarier-looking people saying lots of big words. One of them said “surgery,” and Ritchie cried harder.

He cried when they changed him out of his clothes.

He cried when they stuck a big needle in his hand.

Then…he was too sleepy…to cry…

* * *

When Ritchie woke up, it was a lot quieter. The walls were still white, but the bed was comfier. “Wha happa?” he asked, his voice not sounding right.

A nice-looking lady turned around. She gave him a squinty smile and told him to relax.

Ritchie hummed and drifted back to sleep.

* * *

Ritchie heard himself talking before he realized he was awake again. The lady had a soft smile on her face as she listened. He wondered how long she had been listening to him—and what on earth he had been telling her.

“Where’s my Mum?” Ritchie asked, pleased that his voice was working properly again.

“She’s waiting in the hall. I’ll go let her know that you’re awake.” The woman headed for the door, then paused. “You be sure to give your boyfriend a big hug when you’re better, alright, Richard?”

Ritchie didn’t know what she was talking about, but he nodded and hoped his mum would be there soon.

His mum rushed in a few seconds later, immediately standing by his side and brushing his hair out of his face. “Oh, Ritchie. I’m so sorry. You’re so brave. The bravest boy I know.”

“What happened? Where am I?”

“Your appendix was hurting you, so the doctors took it out. It won’t hurt you anymore.”

“What’s a pen-diss?”

Ritchie’s mum held up her thumb and forefinger close together. “It’s a little tiny thing in your tummy.”

“If it’s tiny, why’d it hurt so bad?”

She sighed and ran the backs of her fingers over his cheek. “Yours got infected and burst, so they had to cut it out.”

Ritchie didn’t like the thought of any part of him being cut out. He slowly moved his hand to his stomach and felt a puffy bandage through his robe—“Ow!”

Gasping, his mum grabbed his wrist. “Don’t touch that, love. You need to let that heal.”

“How long will it take?”

“A week or two, probably. Which means you get to stay home from school,” she said with a smile that was quickly mirrored on Ritchie’s face.

He also learned that he’d have to stay in hospital overnight so the nurses could make sure he was okay and keep the pain away. It sounded boring and scary, but his mum went home to grab some toys and books, and she promised to stay with him all night.

Even better, she brought get well cards from George and Peter. Peter’s note was nice, even though Ritchie had to ask his mum to read it to him. Then he picked up George’s card, and a huge smile spread across his face.

The front of the card was a drawing of George and Ritchie under a brightly colored rainbow. George even got the color of Ritchie’s eyes right. But the backside was what really blew Ritchie away. George had written an entire letter to him. When did he even learn how to write?

“George worked very hard on this,” Ritchie’s mum said from her seat next to him on the bed. “Mrs. Harrison sat with him for half an hour to tell him how to write every letter of what he wanted to say.”

Ritchie stared at the card in awe. “He did that for me? What does it say?” he asked, thrusting it into his mum’s hands.

It was even nicer when Ritchie knew what it said. The “P.S.: I love you” made him smile so much, he begged his mum to read the whole thing again. After listening and admiring once more, Ritchie propped the drawing up on his bedside table to keep him company in case he got scared during the night.

He couldn’t wait until he could play with George again, either.

* * *

The night in hospital wasn’t as bad as Ritchie was afraid it would be. The nurses gave him some smelly medicine to stop his stomach from hurting again, and he was so exhausted from the day that he fell asleep quickly.

Before he knew it, his mum was helping him out of bed and they were on their way home. He still had to take medicine for a few days to make sure more of his body didn’t get infected from where his appendix burst, but Ritchie didn’t want to think about that. He was too excited about the prospect of watching TV all day to rest up as he healed, and he happily settled onto the sofa with a blanket.

He was about to doze off when the doorbell rang. A few seconds later, Mrs. Harrison appeared—with a plate of _cookies_.

“How are you feeling, Ritchie?” she asked.

“Good,” he said, staring at the cookies and feeling suddenly wide awake.

She nodded and added, “Peter’s going to stop by for a visit when school lets out, but we thought you might enjoy some company—” She broke off when a thud sounded from the hallway. “Careful, George,” she sighed. “Ritchie’s waiting for you.”

Indeed he did wait, as it took several more seconds for George to appear. Ritchie soon saw why it took George so long.

George was wearing a white lab coat that probably belonged to Peter, seeing how it dragged on the floor and was caught on one of his feet. Behind him, he lugged a red case with a white plus sign.

Mrs. Harrison set the cookies on the coffee table and patted George’s shoulder. “I’ll leave you two to your check-up,” she said, taking a seat across the room.

“Check-up?”

George dropped his case on the floor and looked up at Ritchie with big eyes. “Hi, Mr. Ritchie. I’m Doctor George. I’m gonna make you all better.”

Ritchie laughed as George clicked open the case and rummaged through his doctor’s kit.

The first tool chosen was the otoscope. “Let me see your ears,” George said as he lightly pushed Ritchie’s head into the proper position. He proceeded to stick the otoscope into Ritchie’s ear with so much enthusiasm that Ritchie was grateful he hadn’t had ear surgery.

“All good,” George said once he had inspected both sides. Then he stuffed the otoscope up Ritchie’s nostril.

“Hey!” Ritchie jerked his head away. “That’s not s’pposed to go there.”

George frowned. “But I gotta check your nose isn’t sick.”

“My nose is fine.”

George inched the tool closer to his nose and pouted harder.

“…Fine. But don’t stick it _in_ my nose, silly.”

Giggling, George held it just outside Ritchie’s nose. It shook so hard from his laughter that it was unlikely he could see anything through it.

“Nose is healthy,” George decided, dropping the otoscope. “Now I check your heart with my smeth-o-stope.” He set the stethoscope’s earpieces in place and pressed the other end to Ritchie’s chest. And he waited.

“George?”

“Shh.” George kept moving the chestpiece around and scrunched up his nose as he listened. “It’s broken.”

“I don’t think that one works,” Ritchie said—“Oh.”

Ritchie froze as George dropped the stethoscope and pressed his ear against his chest. A few stray strands of George’s hair brushed Ritchie’s neck as George’s hand tangled in Ritchie’s shirt, pulling him closer so he could listen more easily. “Can you hear it?” Ritchie whispered.

“Ba-bum, ba-bum, ba-bum,” George said, giving him a big smile as he stood back up. “Your heart is good. Now I fix your tummy.” He picked up a plastic bandage. “Where’s it hurt?”

Shifting nervously, Ritchie pointing to his stitches. “Here. Be careful.”

George took the bandage and lowered it toward Ritchie’s stomach, making Mrs. Harrison jump halfway out of her chair. “Be _gentle_ , George.”

But there was nothing to worry about. George was very gentle, resting it softly over his stomach. “There. All fixed.”

Ritchie looked at the tiny, tan piece of plastic sitting on his shirt and smiled. “Thanks, Doctor George.”

George stretched up and wrapped his arms around Ritchie. “You’re all better now.” He nuzzled his head into Ritchie’s neck, and Ritchie felt a couple drops of water slide onto his skin. “Now you never have to go back to the scary ‘spital ever ever ever again,” George muttered.

As George’s tears continued to fall, Ritchie hugged him tighter. He really hoped George was right.

* * *

The next week came. And the pain came back.

Ritchie shivered and vomited on the way back to the hospital. He didn’t want more surgery, he didn’t want another hole in his tummy. His mum tried to comfort him and tell him that if he did it once he could do it again, but he knew that he wasn’t supposed to be back. The nurses said the pain was supposed stay gone.

Something was wrong. He had done something wrong.

The doctors told Ritchie what they were going to do to him, but he could barely focus. They stuck a tube in his hand again, took him back to the room with all the people in the scary masks, and his eyes started to droop closed.

His mum’s words rang in his ears. He’d be awake soon…soon…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to end on another cliffhanger, but poor Ringo had to go through so much, his childhood was practically a big stream of cliffhangers :'( 
> 
> Also, I'm gonna thank rufusrant again not just for her lovely art, but also for helping me get this story as accurate as possible. (And for giving me emotional support because I'm kind of a mess, haha.) But yeah, she's awesome. Show her some love.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter uses a skin to get colored text for a short passage, and that passage might be a bit confusing without the different colors. If for some reason the colors aren't showing up correctly for that section (it's about 10 lines, the rainbow part), let me know! (Also I'm not sure how colors appear with different types of color blindness, so if distinguishing between black and purple is hard for anyone, let me know and I can make some edits to make it easier to see!)

_…_

_“…No. No, that can’t be true. Oh god, oh god.”_

_“Elsie, please take deep breaths. We’re doing everything we can—”_

_“But my baby…Is my Ritchie going to be alright?”_

_“…He’s in stable condition at the moment. But—”_

_“Oh god, oh my god.”_

_“Miss, please breathe. It’s alright to cry.”_

_“Don’t tell me it’s alright, nothing’s alright.”_

_“Miss, please listen…”_

_…_

_…_

_“…tchie? Ritchie love, can you hear me? Mummy’s here, baby. Can you squeeze my hand if you hear me? Come on, love. Squeeze my hand. Squeeze Mummy’s hand. …Ritchie? Ritch…”_

_…_

_…_

_“…don’t want to leave my baby. You told me I could stay.”_

_“You’re still welcome to spend some nights here, Elsie. But we don’t know how long the coma will last, and you continuing to spend every hour here with him will only hurt your own mental health. I assure you, your son is under the highest standard of care…”_

_…_

_…_

_…_

_……_

_………_

__

_“Ritchie! Look at the rainbow. It’s huge! Let’s climb all the way to the tippy top.”_

“Be careful, Georgie. Hold my hand.”

_“Look how sparkly it goes when I stomp on the colors!”_

“Hey—heehee—you’re going too fast!”

_“Noooo, you’re too slow.”_

“Don’t stick your tongue out at me—ah!”

_“Ritch -ie? Ritchie, are you-there?” _

“M-Mum? George? Who’s there?”

_“What’s happening? Let’s play Ri -tchie, the house is so quiet without you. I miss…oh god, I promised myself I wouldn’t cry today. I miss you so much, love.” _

“How’d you get on the rainbow, Mum? Why aren’t I home? Where’d George go? George! George, come back. Mum, I’m scared. Mum…Mum, come back…”

_………_

_……_

_…_

_…_

_…_

_“Thanks for coming by to see him. And for…coming to see me.”_

_“Of course, Elsie. The poor boy’s been through too much.”_

_“Are you going to bring George by?”_

_“Ahh…Harold and I have been discussing that. George was already so distraught from seeing him after his first operation. Seeing him like this…”_

_“I understand. …Louise, could you sit with me? Just for a while longer?”_

_“I’ll stay as long as you need me. …Do you need a tissue?”_

_“Oh, god. I’m sorry. I, I just—oh my god, oh my god.”_

_“Shh, Elsie, I’ve got you. I’ve got you…”_

_…_

_…_

_“Hi there, Ritchie. My name’s Catherine, and I’ll be your nurse for the next few hours. …I saw that little head twitch, young man. You can hear me, can’t you? There’s nothing to worry about right now, dear. I’m just going to move you around a little, make sure your little arms and legs aren’t too stiff. I’m going to touch you now, alright? Just my hands, that’s all, Ritchie.”_

“…Mm…”

_“My, someone’s being quite responsive today! Your mum will be thrilled to hear that. Aaand, there you go, all done. Aren’t you all nice and comfy now? Aren’t you? Ritchie? …That’s alright, don’t push yourself, dear. I’ll be back in a bit.”_

_…_

_…_

Light. There was so much light. It was different from the light he was used to. It was sharper, stronger.

Ritchie’s eyelids felt so heavy, like his eyes hadn’t been opened in days. But it was alright that he couldn’t open his eyes more. The light was already too bright.

The room looked different. This wasn’t his room. There was a nagging sensation in the back of Ritchie’s head that he should remember where he was, but he just…couldn’t. If he could just ask someone…but his mouth was heavy too. And his arms. And legs. Why couldn’t he move?

Ritchie thought he felt tears slipping from the corners of his eyes, but it was hard to tell. He couldn’t really feel much of anything.

Then his eyelids got even heavier, and he went back to sleep.

…

…

“Ritchie? Ritchie can you hear me?”

Ritchie squeezed his eyes shut harder. His mum was being too loud, and now she was holding his hand too tightly. He needed her to let go.

His mum gasped. “Oh my god. Ritchie, your hand moved. His hand _moved_ ,” she yelled, but no one answered her. “I knew you’d be alright, sweetheart. You’re gonna be alright.” Her lips softly pressed against the back of his hand.

“Muh…”

She let out a gasping cry. “That’s right, angel. It’s Mum. Mummy’s right here. And I’m not going anywhere until you wake up. You won’t be alone, love.”

That was nice. Ritchie didn’t like being alone…

…

…

This bed wasn’t comfy. Ritchie wanted to move. He tilted his head and was thrilled to find that his head was indeed moving. He then stretched his arms and legs, and the relief felt amazing. “M-Mum,” he muttered, remembering her promise to be there.

“Ritchie? Ritchie, is that you?” A chair screeched against the floor, and footsteps rushed toward him.

Ritchie managed to get his eyes open, and he was met with the sight of his mum’s tear-stained, smiling face. “Mum,” he repeated, but he broke off into a cough. When did his throat get so dry?

“It’s alright, angel, I’ve got you,” she said, cupping his cheek. “God, I’ve missed your beautiful eyes. You’re such a strong, brave boy.”

Now Ritchie was getting confused. She didn’t cry like this or miss his eyes the last time he had surgery. “Why’m I s’sleepy?” he slurred.

“You can sleep again soon,” his mum said, brushing back his hair that felt longer than he remembered. “But I need to—I need to call the nurse.”

“Mum,” Ritchie said, trying to reach for her wrist but missing. “Why’s it…why was it so different? I had s’many dreams this time. They went on f’rever.”

His mum’s face went pale. “Ritchie, maybe we should wait and let the nurse talk to you.”

“Why? Is somethin’ wrong? Mum what’s wrong? I’m scared.”

She took a deep breath. “Everything’s alright now. You’re alright. But the surgery was…harder. It didn’t go smoothly.”

“They messed it up?”

“No, love. They took care of you.” She paused. “But you went into a very, very deep sleep. For…a while.”

Ritchie’s eyes widened. “Was I sleepin’ for a whole day? Did I get to miss more school?”

She pulled him close and held his hand. “Love, you were asleep for ten weeks.”

* * *

As exhausted as Ritchie was earlier in the day, he sure had a hard time sleeping that night. He had bombarded his mum and the nurses with so many questions—why didn’t they wake him up, how did he eat, did George still remember who he was?—but he was left even more confused than before. He still didn’t know exactly what a coma was, but it sounded an awful lot like he had been dead.

And after all of that, he still didn’t get to go home. Ritchie lay awake on the creaky hospital bed as his mum snored peacefully on the even creakier bed beside him. The room was so empty and unwelcoming, but those walls would be his home for the next few months thanks to his new infection called Perry-Tony-Itis.

Ritchie’s mind kept reeling for a while, but eventually the swirling thoughts came to rest and his eyes drifted closed…

“ _No!_ ” Ritchie gasped, sitting straight up and wincing as the stitches in his torso strained.

“Ritchie!” his mum yelled as she jolted awake. “What’s wrong, angel? Does it hurt?”

Ritchie stared into her familiar eyes as he tried to catch his breath. “N-no.”

“Then what is it?”

“What happens when I sleep?” Tears began falling from his eyes. “What if I can’t wake up?”

“Shh,” his mum whispered, wiping away his tears. “You’ll wake up.”

“B-but what if I don’t?”

“You will. I promise.”

Ritchie wanted to believe her, but it was so hard. Still, it felt nice when she ran her hand back and forth across his shoulder. He yawned, and his mum started to stand up.

“Mm,” Ritchie protested, grabbing her sleeve and pouting.

Sighing, she settled back down and wrapped her arm around him. She began to softly sing, and Ritchie recognized the lullaby as one she used to sing him at night when he was younger. Even when he was scared of the monsters hiding under his bed or when his dad was screaming at something in the other room, that song always made him feel safe. With his mum’s fingers combing through his hair, Ritchie finally shut his eyes.

* * *

The days passed slowly in the hospital. His mum spent as much time there as she could and he got to watch plenty of TV, but no amount of TV could erase the horrible, trapped feeling that never went away. He wanted to go somewhere, do something. Goodness, he actually missed _maths_.

Today, though, he had something to look forward to. George and Peter were coming to visit. It would be the first time he’d seen them in…well, months apparently. He couldn’t wait.

Finally, after two hours of asking his mum if they were almost there, Mr. Harrison was knocking on his door. “Mum! Mum let them in!” Ritchie yelled as he bounced on his bed.

She gave him the same disapproving look she gave him every time he moved around too carelessly, but she still opened the door for the Harrisons. Ritchie craned his neck in the hopes of seeing George running toward him, but all he saw was Peter trudging toward him with his arms full of paper while a mop of George-colored hair stuck out from behind Mr. Harrison’s leg.

“Here,” Peter said, dropping the papers into Ritchie’s lap while his dad told him to be more careful.

“What’s this?” Ritchie asked as he grabbed a pink piece of paper with a crayon drawing of a flower.

“The class made cards for you,” Peter said, plopping into a chair. “We miss you.”

Ritchie’s jaw dropped as he sifted through all the pictures his classmates had drawn for him.

“I did one, too,” Peter said. “Mine’s the biggest.”

Giggling, Ritchie pulled out the big card with a sketch of Spider-Man on the front. “Thanks, Peter.” He’d look through all the cards later, maybe even prop them up on his windowsill, but now Ritchie just wanted to see George. “George? George, c’mere.”

George just clung tighter to Mr. Harrison’s leg, and Ritchie started getting worried. Had it really happened? Had George forgotten him—or worse, stopped liking him?

“What are you waiting for, buddy?” Mr. Harrison asked, trying to pull George out from behind him.

After a small struggle, George finally stepped out into the open. And Ritchie saw the tears rolling down his face.

“What’s wrong?” Ritchie asked, resisting the urge to jump out of bed and give him a big hug.

Hearing Ritchie’s voice made George sob harder. Mr. Harrison knelt down to check on him, but George shoved him away and shuffled toward Ritchie. It took George half a minute before he got his sentence out. “I—I’m—I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“I’m a t-terrible doctor.”

Ritchie’s heart warmed at the memory of George playing doctor on him, then his heart fell apart when he realized what George had said. “No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am. I tried to make you better, but I made them take you away forever.”

Watching George cry made Ritchie want to cry, too. “I’m not gone forever.”

“They didn’t let me come see you ‘cause I was so bad.”

Ritchie’s vision started to get blurry. “But you’re here now.”

“You don’t want me here.”

“Yes, I do! I missed you so much, George,” Ritchie whimpered, weakly scooting toward the edge of the bed to try to reach George.

He was still crying, but George climbed up into the bed anyway and buried his head against Ritchie’s side. “But I was bad. I didn’t make you feel better.”

As he felt the bed shake while George sniffled and wiped his eyes with his fists, Ritchie felt more at home than he had in days. “You’re making me feel better right now.”

George finally looked up at him with that lopsided, toothy smile, and Ritchie couldn’t help but smile back. As long as he had George, he’d be able to survive anything.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh, I'm so sorry for how long this took, but the chapter is here now!!

The days at the hospital dragged on and on. If it weren’t for the nurses coming into his room to update the date and mocking smiley face doodle on the white board each day, Ritchie might have lost track of time completely. And the way the numbers slipped farther from his mind with each day away from school didn’t help.

George made it a little better. He visited as often as his parents would let him. He brought books for them to “read” and games for them to “play”—according to George’s newly revised rules, of course.

During a confusing game of cards that was either “who can flip their card faster” or “who can flip it slower” depending on George’s mood in the moment, Ritchie squinted down at one of the cards.

“What’s wrong?” George said, bouncing slightly in his seat at the foot of Ritchie’s tiny bed.

“I’m trying to read the number.” Ritchie picked up the red card with the curvy line in the corner and dug deep into his brain. “Is it a six?”

Mrs. Harrison looked at the card Ritchie held out. “No, that one’s a J for jack.”

“I thought J was a letter,” George piped up as Ritchie buried the stupid card at the bottom of his pile.

“It is,” Mrs. Harrison said.

“Oh. Ritchie, it’s not a number, it’s—”

“I _know_.”

George flinched away, and Ritchie felt bad. He flipped over another card, then smiled when he recognized the symbol. “I know this one! George, look. It’s a three. That’s how old you are.”

“Nuh-uh. I’m four.”

“No, you’re three.”

“Four. You slept through my birthday.”

Ritchie’s fingers froze on the card. His heart dropped. “…No. No, I…I can’t miss your birthday.”

“I wanted to save you cake from my party, but Mummy said it was gonna get yucky so I had to eat it. It was chocolate and had lots of sprinkles.”

That couldn’t be true. George was _four?_ And Ritchie had missed the whole thing. No party, no gift, no birthday hug. He was supposed to be there. It was bad enough that Ritchie had missed months of his own life from the coma, but it didn’t feel right for the world to just move on without him. For his _best friend_ to move on without him.

“Ritchie? It’s your turn.” George pointed at the cards.

“I hate this game,” Ritchie said, lying down flat on the bed and rolling away.

George prodded his feet a few times to avail. Eventually, George accepted his unearned victory at their game, tried to get Ritchie’s attention again, then sadly hopped down to the floor so Mrs. Harrison could take him home.

Ritchie couldn’t find the strength to tell him goodbye.

* * *

It was hard to fill the days. There was only so much television Ritchie could handle and only so many friends who would come and visit. George still came—Ritchie’s outburst was quickly forgotten—and Peter and John were frequent visitors as well. A few kids that Ritchie hardly remembered the names of paid him a visit, but Ritchie was sure their parents had put them up to it. They were more interested in the flat screen TV on his hospital wall than they were in him.

At his mum’s insistence, Ritchie busied himself with schoolwork as well. She picked up worksheets and books from his teacher so he could practice with the official curriculum. But even with his mum’s help, it was too hard. He kept shoving the textbooks down to the floor in annoyance and making his mum pick them up. She chided him for acting so immature, but what else could he do? He couldn’t storm off into another room for some alone time when he was stuck in his stupid bed all day. Throwing his books around was the only thing he could control.

After a month of his hospital stay—or, at least, a month of being _awake_ —Ritchie began dreading his mum’s visits. He lay on his side, aimlessly running his fingers over the scars on his stomach and staring out the window into the hallway. She’d be arriving any minute now. Ritchie only hoped she wouldn’t have too many papers in her hands.

When she did show up, she wasn’t carrying any papers at all. But that wasn’t what caught Ritchie’s attention. Next to her was a stout man with a moustache in a button-up shirt. Ritchie lifted his head off his pillow and squinted down the hall as his mum laughed at something the man said. A few seconds later she hugged him, and he walked towards the lift while she made her way toward Ritchie’s room.

“Hello, angel,” she said when she entered, enveloping Ritchie in a big hug and giving him a bigger smile than he had seen in weeks.

“Who was that?”

An unfamiliar look passed over his mum’s face for a split second before her smile came back. “Who?”

“The man with the moustache,” Ritchie said, holding a finger above his lip.

“Oh, just one of the doctors.”

“He wasn’t dressed like a doctor.”

“Maybe he was, um, off duty. But guess what? No schoolwork today!”

Ritchie couldn’t complain about _that_. “Does that mean we can play?”

His mum laughed. “Yes, we can play.”

They pulled out a couple of coloring books from one of Ritchie’s shelves and got to work. Ritchie found a cute drawing of a cat and began giving it some dark brown fur while his mum colored a bright pink bunny.

“Bunnies aren’t pink,” Ritchie said with a giggle.

“This one is. Don’t make him sad or I’ll have to give him a nice big frown.”

Ritchie’s eyes went wide. “Is he…a magic bunny?”

His mum smiled. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry mister magic bunny. Your fur is very pretty and magical.”

She drew a long, happy smile on the rabbit’s face, so wide that it went past the edge of his cheeks, and they both laughed.

After a bit more coloring, Ritchie’s mum spoke up again. “Ritchie, dear, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Hm?” Ritchie kept coloring his cat’s pretty eyes.

“I know it’s hard missing so much school,” she said. “So, I found you a tutor.”

Ritchie looked up. “A tutu?” Why would she want him to dance when she got scared every time he stood up to go to the bathroom?

“A tutor. Someone to help you learn what your classmates are learning in school so you don’t fall behind.”

“I’m already behind,” Ritchie muttered. Besides, he didn’t need some strange person coming in and staring at him in his weird bed every day.

“She’ll be able to help you a lot better than I can,” his mum said, stroking his hair. “And you’ve already met her. You remember George’s big sister?”

“Louise?”

She nodded. “She’s tutored a few other kids in the neighborhood, and she’s thrilled about teaching you. She’ll start next Monday.”

Ritchie wasn’t planning on getting back to school so soon. Louise was nice enough, but what if he still did badly? What if she told George how stupid he was?

“Does that sound good, Ritchie?” She stared at him with warm, hopeful eyes that Ritchie wouldn’t dare say no to.

“Okay,” he whispered.

Smiling, his mum kissed the top of his head. “Good. I’m so proud of you. And I think you’ll have fun with Louise.”

Fun sounded like a terrible word to use to describe school, but Ritchie kept his mouth shut. Hospital was about to get that much more “fun.”

* * *

Just like Ritchie’s mum had said, Louise showed up at his room at 4:00 on Monday afternoon, escorted by Ritchie’s mum. In her nice skirt and blouse, she looked much fancier than in the t-shirts Ritchie normally saw her wearing. “Hi, Ritchie,” she said in an uncomfortably formal voice. “How are you doing today?”

“Umm…good?” he said cautiously, not wanting to get something wrong before they had even started.

“Good! Today I thought we’d just take it easy. You can tell me what you’ve been having the most trouble with, maybe do a tiny bit of work, but nothing hard.”

_All_ of it was hard, but Ritchie nodded anyway. Louise helped him out of bed, and they sat at the tiny table next to it with barely enough surface space for one person. Ritchie’s mum said goodbye and moved to a chair just outside the room to read while they studied.

Ritchie carefully talked about how hard it was to remember all the letters and numbers while Louise smiled and took notes. Despite his fears, she didn’t laugh at all.

“Well,” Louise said, “the best way to learn those is to practice them.” When Ritchie pouted and whined, she added, “I know it’s hard, but it has to be hard before it gets easy. Oh—and Peter and George have some flashcards with the alphabet. I can bring those and we can turn it into a game.”

“A game?”

“Yeah! It’ll be fun. And probably silly. Definitely silly.”

Ritchie smiled. This was better than school already.

Louise took out a couple sheets of paper and helped guide Ritchie through the alphabet. She was much more patient and kind with him than his classmates were. It felt nice. But by the time they reached Z and Ritchie had made more mistakes than he could count—or rather, than someone who knew numbers could count—he was tangling his fingers in his hair and jabbing the tip of his pencil so hard into the paper that it tore the sheet.

“That was great,” Louise said.

“No, it wasn’t. Why do I gotta put all the letters in a row? Why does that matter?”

Louise paused and considered that. “You’re right.”

“…What?”

“Writing out the alphabet in order is pointless. And boring. The letters only matter when they mean something.” She gasped. “And I know just the thing.”

“What thing?” Ritchie said as she dug through her backpack for more paper.

“George was really mad when I told him he couldn’t come with me today. He started screaming at me. So, let’s write him a letter to cheer him up!”

Ritchie’s whole mood brightened. “Yeah!” He glanced over at the card George had made for him during his first hospital visit and smiled. He should have thought of this idea sooner.

It was an arduous process, but Louise didn’t get frustrated with him. She even let him add a few doodles around the edges. Ritchie was so proud of himself for writing it that he almost didn’t let Louise take it home. But then he imagined the smile that would be on George’s face when he saw it, and Ritchie knew that this was all worth it.


End file.
